I'll Cry Instead
by WarningCrazyIsContagious
Summary: Ringo Starr had been on edge as tensions rose in the workplace. With a tour coming soon and the tensions so high. Ringo begins to play sloppy, which only hurts him more. The issues hit him and makes his mental state drop. With his mental and emotional state down, he needs help from the others right away. Trigger Warning: Suicidal thought/actions will be in this story.
1. I'll DIE Instead

Practice had ended long ago, but yet, Ringo was upset. They got into yet another heated argument at the studio, and after the argument was about to end, Ringo kept messing up making the others scream at the poor drummer. Days and weeks passed; the arguments and mess ups continued as the band began to balance on a sharp razor's edge, causing the drumming tecniques to become sloppy. One rehearsal, it seemed as if Paul had enough of Ringo's mistakes since they were leaving for a tour in about a week. During one beginner mistake, Paul exploded at Ringo, which Ringo wasn't used to since he tried to stay out of the band's confrontations.

"Ringo, what the hell do you think you are doing?" Paul exploded to the drummer, "your drumming as if you just learned to hold onto those damn sticks, much less play with them!"

"I-I'm sorry, Paul…it's just-…I-," Ringo stuttered as he knew he was stressed by the fights, but he knew everyone is, "I'm sorry…"

"Ringo, we know you're stressed," John butted in, "but we all are, lad, and we need a drummer who actually can play this."

"How about I take over drumming for this damn recording and Ringo could return to his corner with that tambourine," Paul growled through his clentched teeth, "because all of us already know I'm the best drummer here."

"Now, Paul," George jumped in, "lets just breath for a moment."

"Oh, and here's George…The spiritual one," Paul huffed, "we're letting you play lead guitar instead of me, so back off!"

"You're too full of yourself," George growled and went back to his spot where he had left his guitar.

"So, Ringo," Paul faced the drummer, "either get this right, or we'll send you out for the day, maybe the week!"

Ringo looked Paul in the eyes, and all the drummer saw was pure rage. He saw none of the kind, fun loving lad he knew as Paul McCartney, and deep down it scared him. Ringo silently nodded to Paul, then Paul huffed and walked back the the microphone he was sharing with John. Ringo knew he had to focus, or he may as well be a weak link in a chain that was about to break any second. They started to play again, the song entitled 'Help!' The drum part was crazy, pretty much banging on the drumset, playing as loud and hard as possible. The drum part was planned to sound strong in the background, but with Ringo making the mistakes due to stress, it always sounded wrong. They started the song, and it started pretty well. Ringo kept the beat until the inevitable happened. His aging drumstick snapped during the intense cymbal part. The half that broke hit Paul, of all people, in the back. Ringo quickly frowned when Paul stopped playing to look angrily at the drummer.

"It broke," was all the drummer could say as the bassist walked towards him.

"Out," Paul growled and pointed to the door.

Ringo looked at Paul in shock as tears threatened to fall, but the drummer ran out before the bassist could see any of them, or the pained look on his face. He quickly ran out, and as the door shut, he could hear John scolding Paul.

"Nice going Paul," John scolded, "now we lost our drummer."

"I could be a way better drummer," Paul said as he picked up that sticks, then looked around, "is there a stick that's in one piece around here?"

"I think those were Ringo's only sticks here," George said as he picked up the other half from the floor, "but, there's always tape."

"Tape does not fix everything," Paul growled lowly to George.

"Well, food does," George grinned towards Paul then looked at John, "wanna join? It looks like we're done here since there's only one good drumstick."

"Sure," John grinned and walked out with George, "some food sounds pretty good about now."

Paul frowned and began the cymbal part with one stick, resulting in the only good one to break, "shit…"

* * *

Ringo quickly ran to the bathroom in the studio and leaned against a sink to view his reflection in the mirror before him. In the mirror he discovered a teary eyed man who'd been broken for too long in the band. The band was beginning to fall apart, but due to his contract, he was forced to stay in the band for longer, as were the others. The fans would also be heartbroken if The Beatles were to break up. Ringo sat under a sink, his hands shaking more vigorously than his whole body. He thought for a second, for a way, any way to get out of the mess.

He lowered his head to cry in his knees, then an idea slipped in his head. He quickly moved to his bag and dug through the contents until he found his goal, his safety razor. He always had it in his drumstick bag in case he needed it if he stayed at the studio over night, which he had done many times. He began to fumble with the plastic, tearing it off and pulling out the small razor inside.

"The fans would miss them," Ringo stared at the sharp razor in his left hand, "but drummers are expendable…"

He pulled up the sleeve on his right arm, revealing the smooth skin on his arm. He slowly brought the razor to it, slicing a small mark in his wrist. He sucked in some air when he felt the sharp pain, then let the air slowly fall past his lips. He stared at the small cut on his arm as crimson began to seep out of it. Rather then cleaning off the blood, he let it travel down his arm. Watching it as it made it's destination to the palm of his hand. He quickly sliced the razor over his arm again, deeper than before. The blood came out a bit faster than before, and the pain almost felt relieving. Tears stained his eyes as he sliced eight more angry, deep cuts into his right arm, feeling the tendency to laugh at his pain. When he was about to make his eleventh enraged slice, he heard someone start to enter the room.

The drummer reacted quickly, yanking his sleeve down as he dropped the bloodied razor in his bag all whilst standing up before the person turned the corner. Soon, he was face to face with the very person who made him feel like death; Paul. Ringo grabbed his bag, quickly walking Past Paul and leaving the bathroom without a word. He got to his car and turned the key, then sat there for a little bit. One way to go was suffocation from sitting in a started car with the windows closed, but he quickly backed down from the idea.

"Not yet," he whispered to himself, "not just yet…"


	2. Getting WORSE

A/N: Hello! Not many people are reading this story, so this is my warning. if I don't get any appreciation, Ex: comments, likes in some way, it will stop here. It's not worth my time if nobody likes it.

* * *

Ringo drove home on his own, sprinting inside in case any fans were around to throw themselves at the drummer. He threw his bag on his couch as he walked through his television room to his kitchen to make himself some tea. He filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove so it could begin to boil. As the water began to hear up, he walked into his bathroom, opening the mirror with a medicine cabinet behind it, in search of a wrap to put over his fresh cuts on his right arm. He found a vet wrap kind of thing and wrapped his arm up in the dark green wrap. He quickly left the bathroom, mid wrapping his arm, to check the water.

By the time he got there, the pot was beginning to steam. He grabbed it and poured it in a cup along with a mint tea bag for the flavoring of the tea. He hoped a nice cup of tea, and wrapping his wrists, would help avoid the thoughts of suicide floating around in his troubled mind. He sat on his couch, taking a sip of the hot beverage, and turned on his black and white telly. The news was on, and he liked to see the weather before he drifted of his sleep. Rather than the weather, it was talking of a suicide that worked in the city. Ringo stared at it, listening to how the person did it, actually quite interested.

"A twenty-three year old woman committed suicide earlier this morning," the weather man, Peter Riggs began the story, "the woman was found to have multiple cuts on her wrists and thighs, and was found after an overdose of sleeping medication and vodka…"

"Sleeping pills and vodka you say…" Ringo looked in his kitchen ignoring what else Peter had to say, "I may have the equivalent."

Ringo placed his cup of tea on the table when he walked into the kitchen then went to go through a few cabinets. He found some whiskey and brandy in one shelf along with some painkillers he found in the medicine cabinet. Not exactly vodka and sleeping pills, but it would work all the same for the drummer. He dumped out the contents of the medicine bottle into his hand, staring at about fifty-two white pills. Enough to overdose on without the alcohol, but it would make it more painful. He rummaged through his bag and found his razor he used earlier on his right wrist.

He had it all planned. He was going to take all the painkillers, wash it down with two whole bottles of whiskey and brandy, then cut until he could cut no longer. He lifted the fist full of pills to his mouth, only to stop as soon as something caught his eye. He lowered his hand as he looked at a little plushie in the corner of the room. It was a little octopus. The first time Paul blew up at Ringo, during their tavern days, Ringo had left in tears. The next day, they called him to go to John's house. When he had arrived, Paul apologized profusely to the drummer, and they all pooled what little money they had to get the orange octopus to cheer him up.

It may sound very childish, but it was enough for Ringo to slide the pills back into the bottle and throw them into a drawer with the brandy and whiskey. He picked up the razor, and began to wind up the throw, but he paused and clenched his fist, causing the sharp, metal object to dig into the skin of his palm. Ringo watched as the crimson began to fall, as if he was in a trance by the red liquid. He quickly ripped off his bandage and ripped into his skin. Tears blurting his vision as more pain and blood came from his skinny wrists. As quickly as he had began, he stopped, blood dripping on the white, tile floor slowly. His eyes widened once he saw what he had done… He was losing control… He quickly washed his cuts, and wrapped them in the green wrap again. He ripped his coat off the rack, then ran into the night, knowing exactly where he was going.

Soon enough, he was in front of the door that had someone who may be mature enough to help his problem. He bit his lower lip softly as he knocked on the chestnut door. He heard someone mumble inaudible words inside, then he heard the hinges squeak open. A man stood in the doorway, slouched posture, and probably very tired as well. He seemed a bit irritated to see the drummer at the door, and his words reciprocated his emotion.

"Ringo, what are you doing here? Don't I see enough of you and the others at the studio enough already," the man groaned as he tried to stay awake, "I'm your manager, not your personal mate."

"Brian, it's an emergency," Ringo whined softly as he tried to hold in the tears, "please…I need help…"

"Can't it wait for the morning, Ringo?" Brian irritably answered.

"No, it can't," Ringo whimpered, "I hurt myself…"

"Hurting yourself isn't an emergency a band-aid can't fix," Brian sighed as he was about to slam the door on Ringo's nose.

"No, Brian…I don't think you understand…" Ringo ripped off the green wrap and revealed his butchered arm, "I hurt myself!"

Brian's eyes widened as he saw the cuts as the door stopped closing, "Ringo…no…come inside…I'll make you some tea and we can talk…okay?"

Brian brought Ringo inside, softly closing the door as the other man entered. It was a small place, but it was ideal for one man to live on his own in. Brian sat Ringo on the sofa and grabbed a washcloth, wetting it in cold water, then walking to Ringo to tap some of the blood that spilled as the drummer ran on the streets. Brian whimpered calming gibberish to the other man as if he was a child, but in Ringo's current state, it truly helped him calm down. Brian tenderly wrapped the cuts in a better bandage than what Ringo had on it in the first place, then retrieved the tea that just finished. He set the fresh cup into the shaking hands of the drummer and looked him in the eyes.

Brian saw the red in Ringo's eyes, probably from crying, and he could feel his heart ache as he looked at the lad. It reminded him of a friend long ago, a special friend he had in his life. Brian knew a lad throughout the entirety of his school career, his name was Flynn, and many people said they must be dating they were so close. Brian, himself, was queer, and he knew Flynn was queer along with him. They were extremely close, until the one day Brian didnt know he'd ever see in his entire lifetime.

Their senior year, Flynn came to him with the same expression Ringo had in his cupped hands. Flynn cried to Brian, telling him of the problems his parents had with him being queer. Flynn's parents kicked him out, and Brian tried to insist Flynn to stay with him, but he said he'd live with his aunt. The very next day, Brian couldn't find Flynn anywhere, and worry began to rise in his chest for his crush. That evening on the news, Brian almost vomited from what he saw. The night Flynn left Brian, he went to a tree in the park and hung himself.

He looked at Ringo when his mental flashback ended, and he saw the face of fear his friend had so long ago still plastered on the drummers face. He knew he could be there for Ringo, as long as the stress didn't get to him during the tour and he may forget. He felt he couldn't risk it, but it would be the best for Ringo if they'd keep it hushed up for the time being.

"I'll be there for you, Ringo," Brian looked at the younger drummer

* * *

A/N: will Brain be enough? Maybe not!


End file.
